


Island

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Explicit Language, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2011-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-01 06:30:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10182956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: Harry is stranded on and island with Snape & Malfoy.  They must find a way to survive while his friends & family back home try to find them, before Voldemort does.





	1. Aviophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

The armrest of seat 17-B was made of cheap plastic and painted a sickly bluish-grey hue. There was a rough chip on one edge, no doubt the result of some previous occupant's frustration, and a sticker on the underside that proclaimed 'Stanley Rocks' in thick red and yellow lettering. Who Stanley was, and why he should 'rock' was a mystery that had occupied Harry Potter's thoughts for the last half hour. He fancied at first that Stanley was some sort of musician and the sticker an advertisement for a rock band, but decided after some contemplation the colors were a bit drab for that. Perhaps Stanley was instead a boy like himself, stuck on a long transatlantic flight with nothing to do except ignore the passengers on either side of him as much as possible. For Stanley's sake, Harry hoped the mystery-boy had a better job at it than he had.

"How Muggles can travel like this is beyond me. It's barbaric," the boy in 17-A hissed across to the man in 17-C. "When the Headmaster informed us we'd be flying in a coach I certainly had nothing like this in mind.. I can't even stretch my legs properly."

"We're not flying in a coach, Malfoy. This," Harry interrupted, indicating the surrounding cabin with a half-hearted wave of his arm, "is coach. It's what they call the cheap seats. Haven't you ever seen an airplane before?"

Harry hadn't actually seen an airplane up close before that evening when he'd arrived at Heathrow Airport in London, but he wasn't going to admit that now.

Draco Malfoy, who looked no less the pampered wizard-prince in his 'Muggle' attire than he did normally, purpled in indignation. The man next to the window snapped shut the book he'd been reading and pinched the bridge of his nose with an audible sigh.

"Cheap seats? Do you mean to tell me I've been placed in steerage?" the blonde curled his nose in disgust as he glanced around the cabin.

The Muggle in the seat across the aisle was a rather unpleasant looking woman with splotched skin and a long dark whisker growing out of her chin. In her sleep her head had lolled off to the side so that it hung out into the aisle, her jaw drooped open and a wet trail of drool had made dark stain on her wrinkled blue blouse. As Draco glared at her, she shifted and snorted, smacking her jaw together with a wet 'thwack'.

"Ugh, that is completely revolting. I think I'm going to be sick," Draco grimaced. "Professor, you must speak to the captain of this... this thing. These accommodations aren't suitable for livestock, though I don't suppose Muggles rate much higher. We must be moved at once."

Harry rolled his eyes. When they had first found their seats and fumbled to get buckled in before the airplane alit the sky, he'd responded to Malfoy's sneering objections and insults with a hearty defense of Muggles and Muggleborns and their technology. Of course, the wealthy young wizard had only sneered and uttered something suitably scathing in response, which had only served to rile Harry further, and so on and so forth.

Now an hour and a half into the uncomfortable trip, Harry was getting just a bit tired of being squashed in between two decidedly unpleasant companions and privately thought he wouldn't mind some roomier accommodations himself. Not that he thought there was any chance of that happening.

"Lower your voice, Mr. Malfoy," Severus Snape drawled. "Need I remind you of the consequences should you two decide to resume your petty squabbling?"

Despite the mildness of the professor's voice, Harry wasn't fooled. He'd been the man's student long enough to recognize that the calm, even tone meant danger, and he surreptitiously scooted a bit farther over in his seat. Malfoy was apparently also cognizant of the deep waters he was about to wade into, and his next protest died on his lips. It didn't stop him from jerking sulkily in his seat and glaring at Harry as if the whole thing was somehow his fault.

Which is was, actually. Sort of. Returning to the Dursley house after the fiasco at the Ministry that spring had seemed... well it made Harry feel like one of the ostriches he'd seen at the zoo before he'd been banished from that activity as a result of that minor incident in the snake house. He'd thought they were the oddest creatures he'd ever seen, with their huge feathery bodies standing motionless as they buried their heads in the sand. He'd wondered then what they were hiding from. He chuckled to himself as the memory brightened in his mind. Looking back now, his memory self seemed so much younger then, impossibly young, though it had only been five years. At ten years old, the evilest thing he could probably have imagined was his cousin Dudley and his horrendous gang of friends, or even possibly Aunt Marge. If he'd known then, if somehow he were able to go back in time and warn his younger self about the things that were awaiting him, truly evil things like killing curses and scars that weren't just scars; about phantoms that fed on pain and suffering and gave soul stealing kisses; about murder, betrayal and above all about Voldemort, he wouldn't have blamed himself if the ten year old Harry Potter had vanished instead the glass to the ostrich exhibit and crawled right into the sand with them.

It was much too late for that now. He'd looked into the eyes of the foulest being alive on earth, and it had stared back with hateful, blood-red intensity. There could be no more forgetting, no more pretending the darkness wasn't waiting around the corner to devour them all. The time for that was long past.

And yet, after he and his friends had been safely escorted back to Hogwarts and fussed over by Madame Pomfrey, they'd all been shipped off to their homes for the summer as if nothing had changed.

Harry sighed. Maybe nothing had changed for Dumbledore or the rest of the Order, but for Harry, everything was different now. He'd felt that twisted presence in his mind a thousand times more powerful than the diluted taint of infiltrated dreams and he knew with startling clarity that something had to be done to drive it from his world, and that it had to be done now. Now, before the darkness grew too black and too deep for him to find his way home the next time he found himself thick in the middle of it.

He'd protested of course. The night before the Leaving Feast found Harry ensconced in the Headmaster's office ranting and raving until his throat was raw. It hadn't made any difference. The next morning he was on the train speeding steadily along back to the house on Privet Drive. He'd hoped, at least, that he'd be allowed to stay with Sirius, but apparently his godfather would be gone most of the summer doing work for the Order.

'I'm sorry Harry,' Sirius had said quietly, squeezing Harry's shoulder to emphasize his words. 'The last thing I want to do is leave you again, especially after Voldemort tried to use me to hurt you."

'Then don't,' Harry had replied. It hadn't been fair of him, he knew. The worry and sorrow in his godfather's eyes had been proof enough that the man truly meant his words, but Harry hadn't wanted to believe them at the time. He'd been so angry, with everyone.

The Dursley's had not been pleased to see him either, of course, but by some unspoken agreement they managed to stay out of each other's way. Harry spent the days moping about in his room and the warm summer nights sitting out by the back door. He wasn't allowed to actually leave the yard-a promise the Headmaster had extracted from him that he knew, despite his rebellious attitude during their brief conversation before he stepped onto the train, it would be exceedingly foolish to break.

The beginning of the summer had been relatively quiet. Harry hadn't known quite what to expect-he'd been entertaining the idea that Death Eaters might show up at his door; certainly Voldemort had to be angry about the events at the Ministry and hungering for revenge. He couldn't imagine the evil wizard content to sit around and wait for Harry to waltz on out to meet him again.

It seemed at first though, that this was exactly what Voldemort was going to do, but then on the first day of the last week of June, it wasn't. Sinister looking men started appearing, stalking up and down the street at all hours of the day. While Harry had been assured they could by no means break through the blood-wards surrounding the property, it didn't stop them from standing about watching, and waiting.

The Dursleys had taken one look at the freaks surrounding the area and locked the doors and windows up tight. After the fourth day of cowering deep within the bowels of the house, Uncle Vernon reached his limit.

'Out!' he'd exploded when he caught Harry peeking out one of the front windows one evening. 'This is all your fault, boy! Do you see what you've brought upon us this time! Can't even leave the house can we, and I know just who to blame! You get out of this house and you take those, those freaks out there with you!'

Uncle Vernon had been all for kicking him out the door that instant, but in a rare moment of pity or concern or something remotely human, Aunt Petunia had insisted he stay until someone could come fetch him. Dumbledore had come personally, and though he'd tried to change their minds, he had no luck.

Harry had been overjoyed at first. He thought he'd be going back to Hogwarts, or at least to the Burrow, for the rest of the summer. The headmaster had other plans.

'Once he finds out you've been removed from your Aunt and Uncle's house, Voldemort will be expecting you at the school and with so many of the staff absent for the remainder of the summer, it is just not safe enough Harry. He knows, too, how close you are to young Ronald, and I'm sure you don't want to put the Weasleys at risk.'

Harry hadn't, of course. So now, instead of spending his lazy afternoons playing Quidditch with Ron, he was on a plane with the two people he least wanted to be with, and he had no idea where he was going.

The only thing Dumbledore had told him about their destination was that the Order had a safe house set up overseas, and that he would be safest there in the company of Professor Snape. He'd saved the unwelcome tidbit that Draco Malfoy would also be accompanying them until Harry was already out the door and stomping his way sullenly down the spiral staircase

Snape had been of little help. When Harry had reported, albeit reluctantly, to the front entrance of Hogwarts the next day at the appointed time, the man hadn't looked any happier about the situation than he was. He'd refused to speak a word about their destination, and after a brusque 'Lets go, Potter," they'd been hurtling away through the sickening in-between of Apparition.

"Really Professor, now even Potter's beginning to look sickly. I'm certain the Headmaster would be most displeased if his Golden Boy perished because proper consideration was not given to the most basic of our needs."

Malfoy's saccharine voice startled Harry out of his dark thoughts, and he turned to glare at the boy next to him. "The only thing making me sick, Malfoy," he shot, "is your non-stop whinging."

Draco glowered and opened his mouth to retort, but snapped it shut again as a young woman pushing a beverage trolley stopped in the aisle beside them.

"Would any of you gentleman like a glass of pop?" the stewardess asked pleasantly, holding out a glass of dark, fizzing liquid Harry assumed was some sort of Cola. He'd never tried the stuff before, not being allowed the treat whilst stuck with the Dursleys.

Draco was eyeing both the woman and the drink with a fixed look of disdain. No doubt he'd never tasted it either, let alone even heard of its existence. The wizarding world hadn't branched out much from pumpkin juice and butterbeer from what Harry could tell.

"I'll have some please," Harry replied, seeing as how neither of his companions seemed on the verge of offering any sort of response. He wasn't particularly thirsty, but he didn't want to be rude.

"Excuse me… madam," Draco cut in, finally, his tone clipped and falsely polite, as if the very act of speaking to a Muggle was causing him a great deal of stress. "Might I inquire how much longer the flight will last?"

"About six more hours, dearie," the woman replied cheerfully. "The pilot will be turning out most of the lights soon, so you can sleep for a bit if you like. It'll be early morning again when we land, so you'll want to get your rest now."

With a wink, she patted Draco's arm and shuffled off down the aisle, pushing her cart before her.

Harry took a sip of his drink, cautiously. The fizz felt like mini crackers exploding in his mouth, but not in an altogether unpleasant way. He decided he quite liked it.

"I can't believe your going to drink that _abomination_ , Potter," Draco exclaimed scornfully, apparently recovered from his encounter with the Muggle.

"What the bloody hell do you care what I drink, Malfoy?"

"Language, Potter," Snape warned from his other side, not taking his eyes away from his book. "Some of us are already nauseated at the very idea of this particular… excursion, without having to listen to your foul mouth along the way."

Draco smirked victoriously, glaring at Harry and the glass haughtily.

In defiance, Harry took a large gulp and swallowed noisily. "Delicious. Are you sure you don't want any?"

The blonde grimaced and pointedly looked away. "Just hurry up and finish the sludge if you're going to, but keep it away from me."

Harry did, but only because he didn't think he could get away with dumping the content's in Malfoy's lap with Snape close enough to strangle him without leaving the comfort of his seat.

Eventually, whether he was tired of bickering or had just run out of quippy insults to throw Harry's way, Draco settled into his seat and took to staring at the other passengers with his lips curled in disgust, and Harry happily left him to it.

The lights began to dim, as promised, and Harry turned his head toward the window and watched the clouds roll by. The sky grew dark, and at first he thought it was just night creeping steadily on, but the blackness came too quickly, and it was much too early in the day. Uneasiness slunk malevolently into a pit in his chest and despite the nonchalance with which the plane continued stealthily through the dark sky, it would not go away.

Abruptly, the plane rumbled. A small vibration, barely noticeable, but it was enough for Draco to start in the seat beside him, and for Snape to look up finally from his book, and glance about the plane.

"Good afternoon folks, this be your pilot speaking," a friendly, vibrant voice crackled over the intercom. "We've spotted a wee bit of turbulence up ahead, so we'd ask that everyone return to their seats and buckle up for safety. No need to worry, these things happen all the time, and we'll have us out of this spot in a jiffy."

Despite his friendly assurances, the plane rumbled again, this time hard enough to shake Harry forcibly in his seat. He stared anxiously out the window, but now he could see nothing: not the clouds or the sky nor even the outline of the wing that he knew should be visible there somewhere. There was only thick, impenetrable black.

"Turbulence?" Draco hissed, as he fumbled nervously with the clasp of his seatbelt. "Professor, what the bloody hell is turbulence? Is the plane supposed to shake like this?"

Harry was further alarmed when he noticed the man had pulled his wand out of his sleeve and was clutching it tightly in the ready position. He was sure the only reason the professor would brandish his wand in clear view of several dozen muggles was if he suspected some serious trouble.

Harry's heart was racing. His first thought was of Voldemort. Had he found them, despite all their secrecy and precaution? Did the dark wizard have enough strength and power to besiege an entire airplane?

"Professor, do you think Volde-" he began, his voice shaking with each vicious jar and jerk of the plane.

"Quiet!" Snape hissed, cutting him off. His dark eyes swept back and forth as he too stared out the window, but Harry didn't know what he could possibly be looking for. There was nothing to see there.

The plane lurched suddenly, and several people about the cabin screamed. The lights, which had come on again with the 'Fasten Seatbelt' sign, flickered ominously.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter. Undo your restraints and take hold of your things, quickly," Snape whispered suddenly. Even amidst the chaotic plane and its terrified passengers, his voice betrayed not a hint of weakness.

"Are you insane?" Draco shouted incredulously, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly it was enough to turn his knuckles white. The entire left side of the plane dipped suddenly, sending him crashing into Harry. "You want us to waltz about the plane while it's doing this?"

"You will do as I say, unless you want to die on this plane when it crashes into the ocean!" the man hissed back furiously, his dark eyes blazing. He had already undone his own seatbelt and was perched precariously on the edge of his seat, ready to spring at a moment's notice.

"Crash?" Harry asked weakly. "What do you mean we're going to crash? The pilot said everything was going to be fine!"

Snape glared at him. "Does this look fine to you, Potter? Do you really think the pilot would announce our impending mortality to a cabin full of already panicking muggles?"

Harry didn't think being muggle had much to do with it, since he was certainly feeling a bit panicked himself, and Malfoy looked to be already over the edge into full blown hysteria.

"We have to get out of here now and I cannot do that unless you two imbeciles stand up and give me some room!" the professor continued urgently.

Harry took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. The plane was shaking so violently now that he could hear his teeth knocking together inside his head. There was nothing else for it. Either he trusted Snape to get him out of there, or he took his chances with a muggle pilot he had never seen, never met, and who had, by the looks of things, already lied to him.

Exhaling quickly, he grabbed for the release on his belt, but it wasn't easy to get the latch undone with his hands shaking so fiercely.

Next to him Draco had muttered a half-silent prayer to Merlin and started fumbling around with his own clasp. Harry didn't know what the other boy believed about their current situation, but he was sure he didn't want to be left behind with a plane full of hysterical muggles.

Finally the release clicked and Harry threw off the tight strap.

"Good, now stand up and move into the aisle. I'll need room if I'm to Apparate us away from here," Snape coached, his voice low and urgent. "Make sure you have your wands. We are not returning for them if you lose them."

Harry grabbed his backpack in one hand, curling his fingers tightly around the strap and his wand at the same time. With his free arm he tried to steady himself on the seat in front of him as he inched closer to Draco.

The lights flickered again, and someone in the seat behind them started to wail loudly. Then again, they blinked quickly from and back to existence. A third time and cabin was plunged into complete darkness. They did not come back on.

Harry ignored the resurgence of crying and startled exclamations of surprise of all the people he could no longer see. He felt cautiously ahead of him for Draco and felt his heart leap in relief when he felt the smooth silk that could only be the shirt of a Malfoy. It occurred to him, at that rather inopportune time, that this was the only moment in five years that he was actually relieved to have his Slytherin nemesis so close by.

"Watch your hands, Potter!" Draco voice hissed through the blackness, but the dark form Harry had latched onto made no attempt to move away.

He felt the heat of another body close behind him and heard Snape's voice low in his ear.

"Whatever you do, do not let go of me, and do not lose your wands."

Harry tightened his grip on his bag and let go of Draco to hold onto Snape instead, wrapping his fingers so tightly around the man's arm he was sure it would leave marks. Snape said nothing of it, only,

"Ready, and… now."

It seemed only half a heartbeat that the man had paused, but in that briefest of moments, Harry was sure that he had died. He felt his feet lift off the floor and felt himself crashing forward into the seat in front of him, his stomach racing into his throat. His hand slipped as the plane gave one last violent shudder and plunged suddenly downward, nose straight down towards the ocean somewhere below them.

Even as his head cracked against something in the dark, he felt someone grab a hold of him and jerk him backwards. Then his mind succumbed to the dizzying darkness and he hardly noticed anything at all.

Weakly, he thought to himself that dying was rather unpleasant. He thought there might have been a bright flash of light, but his eyes refused to open so he couldn't be sure. Then, everything was dark again, and cold, and very, very, wet.


	2. The Wand Makes The Wizard

**Chapter Two**

Death was unpleasant. He had thought that once past the physical 'dying' part, it might not be so bad. He hadn't expected too much; he wasn't looking about for angels or bright lights or anything of that sort, but he thought that at least he might be able to meet his parents. Instead, it was dark. There was a vague sensation that he might still have a body, but it was faint, and he couldn't see it. He couldn't see anything at all.

Somewhere, someone called his name. Curious, he tried to move toward the voice, but it didn't seem to be coming from any particular direction.

"Potter!"

Again, he heard someone calling to him. He struggled to open his eyes, but he wasn't sure he still had any. His body, which he'd felt distantly only a moment before, seemed to be slipping away from him. Numbness crept in where the echo of his extremities used to be. He was bleeding, leaking, seeping away, and he didn't know how to stop it. He tried to scream; he tried to call out for help, but he couldn't find his voice. Panic and despair surged around him. It was disconcerting not to know where he stopped and the void began. Soon, he knew, there would be no difference. Was this how it felt, to wink out of existence, to become nothing more than a memory? Was this what his mother had felt when she died?

"Potter... Potter! Wake up!"

The voice called again; it was becoming louder, and more urgent. His heart leapt; he leapt. He waited until it called again, and hurtled himself towards the noise with every bit of strength and will he could muster. Pain blossomed in his chest; yes his chest, he could feel his chest. Something was burning inside him, but he continued on. He refused to go back to that cold, lonely void, to wither and wait until he finally faded into nothingness.

Harry groaned. His lungs exploded with pain; he could not breathe. All around him it was cold and hard and sharp, but he could feel this coldness, he could curl his fingers around the jagged edge that was pressing into his back, and he knew that he was alive.

Something slapped him across the face and he gasped, sucking in huge lung-fulls of air. Too quickly it seemed; when the cold air hit his lungs he started coughing violently and struggled to sit up.

"Damn it, Potter, open your eyes!"

Harry did, and yelped in surprise, the sound coming thickly like tar out of his throat. Snape hovered over him, his coal black eyes blazing. His hair was damp and mussed wildly above his head like a dark halo, and a small drop of water trailed haphazardly down his forehead and hung off the edge of his large nose.

"Oh thank Merlin," the professor sunk with relief onto his heels and buried his head in his hands.

"What happened?" Harry choked out, still coughing. His throat was raw and the pain in his chest was not subsiding.

"You nearly drowned," Malfoy answered. He'd been standing off to the side, looking warily down at Harry and Snape. His face was carefully blank, but there was a strangled quality to his voice that made Harry wonder if the slytherin had been worried.

The light was blindingly bright, and it was giving Harry a headache. He tried to remember what had happened after they Apparated from the plane, but his memories were fuzzy. He remembered a sudden pain, and then nothing. He certainly didn't remember nearly drowning, although that would explain why it was so hard to breath, and why he was soaking wet.

Snape was rummaging through the pocket of his robes. It suddenly occurred to Harry that the man had been wearing his wizard robes since leaving Hogwarts. They must have been charmed, or surely they would have created more of a stir amongst the muggles.

"Drink this," the professor ordered, and thrust a small bottle of greenish liquid under Harry's nose. It was amazing, even after surviving a plane crash and a supposed 'near-drowning', the man could still whip out a potion at a moment's notice. Always prepared, he was.

It smelled foul, and Harry cinched his nose in distaste. "What is it?"

"It will clear the water from your lungs."

Harry wavered for a moment, but took the vial and tipped it down his throat. He didn't think Snape would have gone through the trouble of reviving him just to poison him at the first available opportunity. That and he was beginning to wish he was back in the void where the simple act of breathing hadn't presented him such a difficulty.

His lungs cleared slowly, and the pain receded. "Where are we?" he asked, looking around. They were sprawled upon a beach of sorts, though there was no sand, only tiny rocks and pebbles strewn about amongst larger rocks and boulders. The ocean stretched out far into the distant horizon, blue and calm and endless. There was no sign of the plane, or the earlier storm that had wrenched it from the sky.

"Is this the safe house?"

Craning his neck to look behind him, his eyes grazed over towering cliffs that surged upwards from the far end of the beach. Directly behind them, the land wasn't so steep. There was a dense tree line some distance back that prevented him from seeing much else, but he couldn't make out any sort of house or building among them.

"Is it in those trees there?" he asked again.

Draco snorted and turned abruptly to face the ocean, crossing his arms petulantly across his chest.

Snape looked chagrined, almost. "No, this is not the safe-house."

Alarmed, Harry struggled to stand. "Did we crash with the plane? What happened?"

"May as well have," Draco muttered.

Snape glared at the other boy and turned his attention back to Harry. "We Apparated safely out of the plane."

Harry looked between the two, confused. "Are we back in Scotland then?" he asked, doubting it even as it crossed his mind. If they'd returned safely back to Scotland, he didn't think Malfoy would look so troubled, and Snape certainly wouldn't be acting so strangely.

The professor shook his head. "No, we are not in Scotland either, we-"

Harry struggled to stand. "Voldemort!" he gasped, cutting off the rest of man's words. Frantically scanning the horizon, he searched for sign of the dark wizard. The evil bastard had found them after all; he'd blasted the plane out of the sky and now he'd taken them here and was planning-well Harry didn't know what he was planning, besides the obvious. Trying to kill them. Or him, anyway. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Malfoy; the git was probably spying on them all along.

He fumbled around for his wand, but Snape grabbed his wrist and shouted. "Potter! The Dark Lord is not here! He had nothing to do with this!"

Harry glared at him, disbelieving. "Then what the bloody hell are we doing here? How did we get here?" he shouted back, his temper rising. Someone had better explain to him what was going on, or he was going to start hexing now and asking his questions later.

"The plane crashed of its own accord, you may rest assured on that count!" Snape continued, spitting his words out vigorously. "There were complications when we attempted Apparition; you let go, Potter!

"Bloody right you did!" Draco interrupted haughtily, tearing his eyes away from the crashing surf to stare condescendingly down at Harry. "And you would've ended up splinched or worse, still trapped on that bloody muggle death coach if I hadn't caught you!"

"I didn't!" Harry protested loudly. He was sure he hadn't. He'd been hanging on for his life, and then... and then. He shook his head wildly, denying the accusation. "Something hit me! It wasn't my fault!"

"Of course it wasn't!" Snape took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. "Of course it wasn't; you were rendered unconscious. There was nothing you could have done. Nevertheless, when I felt your grip slacken I attempted to stop, but it was too late. Somehow we ended up neither there, nor at our destination."

"What he's trying to say," Draco interrupted again, his voice rising steadily, "is that he dumped us in the middle of the bloody ocean!"

"Mr. Malfoy!" Snape boomed. "I do not care how dire our situation appears; you will mind your language! I will not tell you again!"

Harry took a step backward, warily. He'd never before seen Snape angry enough to reprimand his favorite pupil, and he didn't want to get in the way. A vein pulsed angrily near the man's temple, and he'd twisted his lips together sourly as if he was trying very hard not to erupt into a litany of malevolence and blistering criticism.

The two other wizards stared at each other, fuming, but neither offered Harry any more information. Apprehensive as he was about sparking either one of their tempers even further, he had to know. "So... where is this place then?" he asked hesitantly.

Draco threw up his arms in a huff. "Who knows?"

"As your classmate has so helpfully pointed out," Snape continued icily, "We are not certain where we have landed. We dropped out of the Apparition quite a distance out in the water and swam to shore.

Harry stared out at the ocean. It looked calm, save for the regular crash of the waves against the beach, but he doubted swimming inland had been all that easy. He was suddenly a bit glad he'd been knocked out and given a free ride, though he could have done without the drowning part.

"Well now that I'm awake we can just Apparate again, can't we?" he asked. He didn't understand why Malfoy was making such a big fuss. Yes, the boy's fine clothes were probably ruined forever, but he probably had hundreds more where they came from.

Snape cleared his throat and looked, for a moment, almost apologetic. "I seem to have lost hold of my wand in the confusion, Mr. Potter," he admitted thinly. "I don't suppose you have kept a hold of yours?"

Oh no. Harry scrambled around wildly, checking his pockets and digging up the pebbles on which he'd been laid out. His bag, sopping wet and looking quite worse for wear, was sitting atop a rock nearby. He tore through it frantically, though he new it would be of little use. "I was holding it," he whispered weakly. "I was holding it so I wouldn't lose it and I..."

He gestured feebly with his empty hands. Knocked out and drowning in the middle of the ocean with Snape trying to drag him in to shore, there was no way he could have kept a hold of wand. It was impossible. It was lost, buried now at the bottom of the unfathomable depths of the cruel sea; there would be no going back for it, as promised. He felt gutted, as if someone had punched a bludger through his stomach and then ripped out his insides. His wand, the brother of Voldemort's-gone. Destroyed.

"What about yours Malfoy? Haven't you got yours?" he asked without much hope. If Malfoy still had his wand, the professor probably wouldn't be asking for his.

The blond wizard held up several thin fragments of wood in reply. Clearly, they were the broken and pitiful remains of what was once a wizard's wand.

Harry groaned and flopped back down on the ground. He closed his eyes. Maybe he was still unconscious. Snape was acting a little off; maybe this was all just a dream. It was too surreal, too unbelievable, too fantastic to have actually happened. He could take being woken up in the middle of the night and being told he was a wizard; he could handle finding out that there were such things as goblins and giants and vampires and elves; he could even come to grips with the fact that somewhere out there was a madman thirsting for his blood and plotting his eventual destruction, but he could not, would not believe this. People did not get stranded on deserted islands, not anymore. This was like something out of one of Hermione's fantasy pirate romance novels.

"How long do you think it will take Dumbledore to find us?" he asked, his eyes still closed and one arm thrown over them for good measure. He supposed waiting was all they could do; he certainly wasn't going to volunteer to swim back out and try to flag down a boat.

"I have no idea, Potter." Snape answered. "However, I have concluded from my brief appraisal of the surrounding area that we are nowhere near where we are supposed to be. We may be hundred of kilometers off course, at least. It is unlikely the Headmaster will find us anytime soon, if at all."

He gaped at the man who could deliver such a blow so stoically, while Draco sputtered beside him silently.

"If at all?" Harry repeated incredulously. "What do you mean if at all? Of course he'll find us! He's not just going to give up and leave us here!"

"Of course not, you dunderhead," Snape sneered, "I am quite certain Professor Dumbledore would comb the very corners of the globe for you, until his dying day. However, that will make no difference if he doesn't know where to look; it would be like searching for a wand in a bonfire the size of London. We could be anywhere; there are too many possibilities!"

A sudden gust of wind blew in from the ocean, sweeping over them without apology. It was cold, carrying the chill of ice in its breath. Harry huddled against his rock, which was still slightly warm from baking in the sun, and shivered.

"Well I think we can rule Jamaica out of the equation!" Draco shouted sarcastically, as he too dove for cover behind a large boulder.

Only Snape seemed unaffected, clad as he was in his thick woolen robes. "The Headmaster, obviously, will not be able to make the same conclusion," he replied, ignoring the sarcasm.

"We cannot be certain that this island is completely deserted or in fact, that it is an island at all. We may have stumbled upon an unfortunately abandoned stretch of land here, but there may very well be inhabitants further inland or down the coast. If you are able to walk, Potter, we will begin a survey down the coastline there," the man pointed down the beach to their left, where the land was blissfully free of the steep, menacing cliffs in the other direction, "and carry on until we find some sign of civilization."

Privately, Harry thought there was little chance of finding anything, judging by just how desolate their immediate surroundings appeared, but he refused to give up hope completely. Perhaps Snape was right. They couldn't jump to conclusions without first trying to rule out the inevitable -- the inevitable being that they were stuck and completely alone. He stood and stretched his legs a bit, and then nodded.

"I'll be fine," he answered, his voice grim and determined. The potion Snape had given him had made breathing easier, but it hadn't driven away the lingering ache inside his chest, not completely.

"Can't Potter and I just stay here," Draco protested with a whine, "and you can come back and get us if you find something?"

"I'll not have you falling back into the ocean and drowning yourselves again," Snape said brusquely, and started walking purposefully down the beach. "Come."

Draco scowled and muttered something about being able to swim just fine, unlike other barbarian-raised wizards in present company, but he started after the man nonetheless. Harry rolled his eyes and slowly picked his way over the rocks after them. His legs felt a bit like jelly and he didn't want to give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing him fall flat on his face.

The island was beautiful -- harsh, rugged and quiet, but beautiful. They walked in silence along the beach until eventually the flat rocks hefted themselves up into expansive green hills. They rose right up from the sea, leaving no flat land to walk upon near the water, and though they weren't nearly as sheer an incline as the cliffs they'd left behind, they were relatively steep. Their progress slowed considerably, and Harry had to stop more than once to sooth his laboring lungs. They kept out of the trees, though the tree line edged closer and closer outward, until eventually they could go no further without entering the dense forest.

Harry had no idea how long they'd been walking, but the sun had long since reached its peak in the sky and was steadily sinking towards the eastern horizon. Snape was standing apart, gazing stoically out at the ocean and Draco and crashed onto the ground nearby and buried his head in his hands. Earlier in the afternoon the blond had insisted he'd seen a house in the distance, so they'd made a long unnecessary detour climbing up a very slick and unforgiving hill to find nothing more than a large dried out tree that had been split apart by some force of nature and had fallen over. Since then he'd followed along sullenly and hadn't said a word.

They'd found no signs of life except a few birds, and once, a rabbit.

Wearily Harry sunk down on a thick patch of moss and sprawled out to rest. It was beyond the scope of his tired imagination what Snape expected them to do now. He was weak, sore, and hungry, and it was going to be dark soon. Though he'd known it was unlikely, he'd been secretly hoping, deep down in his heart, to find a Weasley-esque cottage somewhere in the hills, with a nice grandmotherly woman who'd bake them cookies and bundle them up with warm blankets and pillows for the night.

Snape turned away from the ocean and stalked back over to the two boys. "We will not be able to make it back to the beach before night, and it is too dangerous to climb down these hills in the dark," he announced. "I suggest you find a comfortable spot to spend the night, and go to sleep."

Too tired to argue, Harry did.


	3. A New Life

**Chapter Three**

Snape shook him awake sometime shortly after dawn. The sun was rising brilliantly over the great blue expanse like a phoenix out of its ashes -- the promise of a new day, a new life. Once, Harry would have taken that promise and held it lovingly to his heart. How many lonely nights had he lain awake at night, dreaming for exactly that? A new life -- a life without an Aunt and Uncle who despised him; a life with a family that would love him, would want him and treasure him; then a life without dark magic, without Death Eaters, without Voldemort. A life without everything and everyone he'd ever known or loved was not a scenario he'd ever dreamt of, and yet, here it was. Snape and Malfoy barely counted; they despised him almost as much, if not more, than Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had.

"Here," Snape shoved a vial in Harry's face and then busied himself sorting various vials and bottles into a potions kit he must have had in his robes.

Harry tipped it back without question. He'd not slept well by any means; the ground had been hard and the wind fierce and it didn't do much for his disposition that morning. If Snape wanted to poison him, he was half in the mood to welcome it.

"Not a morning person, are you, Potter?" Draco sniffed, and drank his own potion delicately. He stoppered the vial neatly and handed it back to the professor. "Thank you, sir."

Harry scowled at him. At least his dreams, troubled as they were, had been impenetrable to that haughty, snobbish voice. "What is it, anyway?" he asked.

"It will prevent you from becoming dehydrated, for now," Snape answered. "It will not curb your thirst entirely, so finding a reliable source of fresh water is our primary concern."

"I thought getting off this place was our primary concern," Draco grumbled. "And what about food? I'm starving!"

"It is doubtful we would survive long enough to achieve such an endeavor without water. The potion will not be effective in the long-term, even if I carried an infinite supply, which I do not," Snape explained impatiently. "Proper sustenance is also of an issue, though I suspect it will be easier to come by. We will begin foraging as soon as we return to the beach."

"Foraging?" Draco scoffed, folding his arms across his chest in defiance. "Malfoys do not _forage_!"

"Then you may eat whatever supplies you had the foresight to bring with you," the professor snapped back angrily. "I sincerely doubt you will find a herd of house elves living in that forest to bring you treacle tart and pumpkin juice!"

Seeing Malfoy properly cowed by his once most staunch defender, Harry was slightly cheered, and tried to enjoy the view as they made their way back to the beach. He'd not looked at it properly the previous afternoon, being too in shock from the sheer ridiculousness of their situation. He watched the sunrise over the ocean with a bit of awe; from their vantage point on the hills, it would have been breathtaking in any other circumstance. He resolved to come back one day with Ron and Hermione, after he was rescued and after they'd finished the war and driven Voldemort from their world for good. It would make a nice place for a vacation, once they were finished with it all. Maybe they'd all have a good laugh about the time Harry had been stranded on a deserted island, Gilligan style. He chuckled to himself, picturing Hermione trying to explain television to Ron.

Thinking about Ron and Hermione and the war brought a sudden uneasiness to his spirit. They would know by now what had happened; Dumbledore would have been waiting to hear from Snape when they arrived at the safe house. He could picture the Order, gathered around the table in Sirius's house, heatedly arguing about how best to mount a rescue. No doubt Molly would be crying -- she always worried too much -- and Sirius would be pacing, arguing that they were wasting time. Surely Dumbledore would have called him back from whatever mission he'd been performing. Ron and Hermione would refuse to be excluded, he knew. If their positions were reversed he wouldn't stand for being left out, and he knew they wouldn't either.

He wondered how long it would take Dumbledore to find them. He knew not to expect the Order to be waiting down at the beach for them when they returned; he wasn't fool enough to convince himself of that. It might be several days, or even weeks -- weeks in which Voldemort would be growing stronger. Harry frowned. He should be there, helping the Order track down the dark wizard, and training to defeat him. He remembered the prophecy Dumbledore had revealed to him at the end of the year all too well.

Troubled, Harry jogged to catch up to the professor, who was leading the way some distance ahead. "Professor," he asked hesitantly, "will Voldemort be able to find you? With the… you know…" He gestured feebly at Snape's arm, suddenly reluctant to bring up the topic with the reformed Death Eater.

Snape glanced at him oddly. "No," he answered after a moment. "It does not work that way. The Dark Lord cannot trace its whereabouts; he uses it only as a summons."

"Oh. Good," Harry replied, relieved. If Voldemort was to find them before Dumbledore, that would be the end right there. Without a wand, he'd have better luck trying to convince the dark wizard to set aside their differences and join him for an afternoon swim than pulling off a successful escape.

"Do you think he knows we're missing?"

"It is unlikely. The mark has been dormant since before we left England. Do not trouble yourself over it, Potter. If there is any cause for concern, I will let you know."

Harry nodded, and lapsed back into silence. Civil conversations with the Potions Master weren't his strong suit, and he was surprised the man had provided him with any information at all. Then again, he was surprised the man hadn't left him at the bottom of the ocean to drown, but he guessed Snape would have a hard time explaining that to Dumbledore.

* * *

It was almost midday by the time they made it back to the beach, and Harry's hunger was beginning to become unpleasant. He'd no lack of experience with diminished meals during his summers, but somehow the direness of his plight made it seem a bit magnified. It wasn't as if he could nick a slice of bread or cheese when no one was looking.

"Ugh, it's about time," Draco complained loudly, and flung himself on the ground. "My legs are killing me. I can't believe muggles actually walk this much. Where's a broomstick when you need it?"

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape began, "come over here and sit. You too, Potter." He pointed to two boulders at his feet and glared at them until they complied.

"I intend to survey the base of the cliffs there," he gestured, "for signs of fresh water and something to eat. When I return we will try to construct a fire, so you two will need to gather a suitable pile of tinder to burn."

"How are we going to start a fire without a wand?" Draco interjected with disbelief. "Can you do it wandless?"

"Perhaps; we shall see when I return," Snape continued. "If not, we will attempt the muggle procedure. I will be gone two hours. Do not dawdle, and do not wander off alone. Is that understood?"

They nodded, but made no move until Snape had disappeared around the corner of the nearest cliff. Harry groaned and got reluctantly to his feet, but Draco only sprawled out again on the rocky ground.

"Come on Malfoy, there will be more wood up near the forest."

"Sod off, Potter," the blonde retorted. "We've been walking all day and I'm tired; if you think I'm going to go lugging around logs for you all afternoon like some kind of mountain troll, you're madder than I thought."

"Oh so I suppose you're just happy to freeze to death tonight then, are you?" Harry shot back angrily. Spending the night exposed to the wind had been horrible, and he wasn't about to go through it again if he could help it.

"Professor Snape will figure something out," Draco sniffed airily. "He's not going to let us die of hypothermia."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from exploding. His hands clenched, he wished fervently for his wand for the sole purpose of being able to curse Malfoy right then and there. Sod being able to Apparate safely away; at the moment he'd settle for being able to send a nasty stinging hex right up the spoiled slytherin's arse.

Let Snape be angry at the git; that might be something worth seeing. Harry wasn't going to stand around and wait to face the man's wrath. He trudged up the beach, his back stiff with anger, until he reached the trees. The tree line was thin at first, but as he wandered along the perimeter the broad trunks of pine grew closer and closer together. Although he wasn't keen on venturing too far into the trees alone, there weren't many felled branches along the edge of the forest, and he didn't fancy trying to hack some down with his bare hands.

Stepping into the forest was like walking into another world. The murmur of the crashing waves faded to nothing, until there was only the sound of Harry's soft footsteps cracking on the bed of fallen pine needles covering the ground. The trees had grown tall with nothing to impede their progress; the sun was only visible in scattered patches where branches had grown tangled together and left small holes in their canopy.

For a moment he pretended he was in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid, but the absence of his large friend's cheerful conversation was too palpable for him to continue the charade for long. Besides that, this forest, while magical in its own peaceful way, held nothing of the whispers of unearthly creatures and enchanted beings that the other emanated. A few times he heard a bird cry overhead, and saw the leaves above him shake suddenly as something climbed their branches, but he saw nor felt no other signs of life.

Eventually the land grew more uneven, and he stumbled over large roots and knolls of moss-covered ground until he left the copse of pine. Deeper in, the forest was darker still, but he paid no mind as he went about his task. Here, there were dead braches scattered beneath the towering oaks -- knocked out of the trees by the squirrels perhaps. Choosing a path he thought would bring him closer to their temporary campsite, he walked along enjoying the solitude while he worked. He whistled a tune, trying to keep his mind from lingering over the reality of what he was doing and why, and gathered a sizeable stack of thin logs before long.

Eyeing the pile, he decided he had enough for a start; if they ran low he could always make another trip. He wasn't sure he could carry many more anyway; his arms weren't lacking muscle by any means, but Quidditch wasn't the sort of sport that really built up the biceps. He turned and started toward the ocean, but before long he stumbled upon a clearing that had been overgrown by a thick, wiry, brush. Looking closer, he noticed shiny red berries dotting the bushes and grinned.

"Whatever Snape finds for dinner, I'm sure this will make a better dessert," he whooped happily.

He didn't sample any, not wanting to risk the professor's scorn and anger if he ended up poisoning himself, but he tore off his shirt, tied up the sleeves, and started filling it with the juicy looking fruit. They'd probably end up staining the cotton red, but he didn't think the other two wizards were in a position to object and ask him to change for dinner.

Picking berries was the sort of mind-numbing task he could lose himself in; when he finally looked up from his half-filled sack he realized that it had probably been quite a bit more than two hours since he'd set off. He gathered up his things and hurried back towards the beach, surprised when he broke out of the trees much sooner than he expected. He must have traveled farther than he realized while he was gathering wood -- he was suddenly very thankful that he hadn't gotten lost.

Snatches of conversation floated towards him, but the wind shipped them away before he could make any sense of them. Snape must've been back then, and from the sound of it, he and Draco were arguing. Hurrying up the rise of boulders that was blocking his fellow castaways from view, he stopped short and gaped when he reached the top.

"-reason why I ordered you to go together, Mr. Malfoy! We've no idea what sort of dangers may be lurking in that forest, and until we do you will go nowhere alone!" Snape towered over the young slytherin, his face wild with fury.

Draco was sitting on a rock, looking sulkily out to sea as his once favorite teacher fumed. "I'm not the one who wandered off-"

"I specifically told you to go with him!"

"But I was tired-"

Snape grabbed the boy's arm and shook it fiercely. "You will rid yourself of this immature behavior at once!" he hissed vehemently. "In case it has escaped your notice, we are stranded -- completely alone, without food, water or shelter! How long do you think you can survive without these things, hmm?"

"You wouldn't let me die-" the boy began, indignant.

"You will disabuse yourself of the notion that I can fix this for you with a snap of my fingers!" the professor continued, his voice dropping dangerously. "What charm do you think I can perform that will end this ridiculous nightmare?"

"But you said you could do wandless-"

"I said we shall see!" Snape glared. "Contrary to this foolish, rose-colored belief you appear to be harboring, I am not a master in the art of wandless magic -- if I were I would have conjured us a ship already and we'd be well on our way. You will learn this and you will learn it now; I'll not suffer for any more of this privileged, spoiled attitude. You will need to get used to doing things without magic, and quickly. There is much to be done and too few of us to do it. You will contribute your equal share, and I will not tolerate your disobedience in this!"

"I'm not a bloody house elf!" Draco shot to his feet and roared, his eyes glinting with anger.

"There are no house elves here!" Snape exploded. "Open your eyes! There is no magic here! None! You will accept this fact and you will contribute, or you can expect to die here!"

Draco clenched his fists, his lips curling into a sneer. "My father would never let that happen! And he'll have you cursed for even suggesting it!"

"Your father is in Azkaban! He is not here to save you; he cannot buy you safe passage from this infernal island because you find it unpleasant!"

"Dumbledore then…" Draco insisted, his voice cracking uncertainly.

"The Headmaster does not know where we are! How I can I make this clear to you Draco?" Snape shouted. "I will do everything in my power to safeguard you and Mr. Potter until we are rescued but until that time you will do as I say!"

Harry watched, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Never before had he seen Snape so angry, not even after the 'Unfortunate Penseive Debacle'. Once, he thought he would have given anything to see Malfoy so trussed out by the stern Potion's Master, but now that it had happened, he felt a bit sick to his stomach. He felt like an intruder, and he suddenly wished he hadn't witnessed it at all.

Warily, he cleared his throat, not sure whether he should stay or go, but unwilling to wander off further and give Snape any more cause for concern.

"I've got some wood for the fire," he ventured bravely, his voice strained, "and I found some berries in the forest."

Draco wrenched his arm from Snape's grasp, and with a hate-filled glare in Harry's direction, he stomped off towards the water.

"Mr. Potter," Snape clipped and drew himself up stiffly, a mask of indifference slamming over his features. "In the future, do not wander off alone."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed quietly. He had no desire to re-draw attention to the fact that it had been Malfoy's gaffe, sensing it would be a very dangerous thing to do, so he let the matter slide with grace.

Snape nodded, once more the picture of the ever-composed Potion's Master, despite the vein that still throbbed in his temple.

* * *

Draco had barely spoken a word since 'The Argument', as Harry had taken to calling it in his mind. He followed along sullenly whenever Snape asked them to collect more wood or berries from the forest, but he made only a half-hearted effort to contribute, and ignored Harry the whole time. It suited Harry just fine, as he'd no desire to speak to the slytherin anyway, so he pretended the sulking boy wasn't there and made the most of his time in the peaceful forest.

It had been three days since that night. So far there had been no sign of any rescuers, but it was early yet. They had managed to pass the first few hurdles to ensure their survival until help arrived; Snape had found a stream of fresh water not far along the base of the cliffs, and after many long hours staring determinedly at Harry's small, unlit bonfire, he'd finally managed to spark off a successful _Incendio_. 

It had been strange to watch the man fail. Harry admitted to himself that he'd never held much, if any, respect for the man, but he'd never questioned that he was a formidable wizard. Some of the things he'd seen the professor do with potions were bloody amazing, much as he hated to admit it, so to watch him struggle with the simple spell was unnerving. He hadn't realized wandless magic could be so difficult, especially considering how often he'd seen Dumbledore conjure something out of thin air. When he asked Snape about it, the man had shaken his head and frowned.

"One of the Headmaster's many talents, to be sure. In my case, it has been some time since I have had need," he had replied brusquely. "With continued use, it should prove easier to accomplish."

Harry had tried it himself, once quickly when the professor had stormed off to the shore in frustration after several failed attempts. He hadn't wanted Snape to see his feeble effort, no matter that he had watched the man fail several dozen times already. Pointing his fingers at the pile, he'd whispered the incantation softly, but nothing had happened. He felt a bit silly then, though he hadn't really expected it to work anyway. Hermione might have been able to master the technique without proper instruction, but Harry didn't think he'd be getting the hang of it any time soon.

When Snape finally succeeded in producing a small spark, the relief was thick in the air. The nights had been brazenly cold, and Harry was becoming quickly disgruntled with waking up with a chill set deep in his bones. No doubt the others were as well. The fire helped, but the wind was still dangerously violent at times. It was a temporary solution at best.

After waking up one morning to find the wind had rendered their fire to scattered ash during the night, the problem was fresh on Harry's mind. It could be several more weeks until they were rescued, he reminded himself. Their days were filled with gathering food and trekking to the stream and back, but other than that they had little to do but sit and stare at the ocean. There was no reason they couldn't fill the long hours doing something more productive.

So, the sixth morning of their unfortunate exile, Harry waited until Snape had eaten breakfast and seemed to be in a conciliatory mood and gathered his attention.

"Sir," he began determinedly, "I think we should build a house."


	4. Home Is Where The Heart Is

**Chapter Four**

Sirius brushed aside the grungy curtain covering the kitchen window and stared out into the rain. The drops fell thick and heavy, battering rapidly against the dingy glass. Behind him, the kitchen was quiet, save the occasional murmur of soft voices from those gathered around the table. He had no desire to join their conversation -- his mood was dark; he didn't trust himself not to explode into a worried rage.

The door swung open and he glanced over expectantly, his shoulders tensing, but he relaxed when it was only Tonks tripping through. Catching his eye, she smiled apologetically at him, and took a seat at the table next to Molly.

"Evening Molly," she whispered soberly. "Any idea what this is about?"

Sirius knew what this was about, loathe as he was to admit it. The voice at the back of his mind, which he seldom made a habit of listening to, screamed at him that this was about Harry, and he couldn't find the will to dispute it. It would be too much of a coincidence if it wasn't.

He turned slightly, leaning against the wall, so he could view the rest of the room. Molly was shaking her head, her face pale and her lips set in a determined line.

"Albus didn't say," she replied, "but I've a bad feeling about this--"

"Try not to think the worst, dear," Arthur leaned in and took his wife's hand reassuringly. "Let's wait and hear what Albus has to say before we jump to any conclusions."

"It's been five days, Arthur," Molly warbled shakily, "five days with no word. Something terrible has happened -- I can feel it in my bones!"

The loud gong of the grandfather clock in the hall struck suddenly, reverberating through the otherwise silent house at it announced one o'clock.

"He's late," Sirius growled. If Molly's intuition was right, if his own intuition was right, they didn't have time to waste.

The wizard standing next to him frowned reprovingly. "He'll be here in good time, Sirius. You know he's a very busy man."

Sirius scoffed, his irritation growing by the minute. "Molly's right, Remus," he growled. "We should have heard from them days ago. You can't tell me you're not worried about Harry too! We don't have time to sit around waiting, and you know it!"

At the table, Kingsley cleared his throat. "I admit the situation seems dire; we've no idea what may have prevented Severus from sending word, but it will do us no good to presume the worst. If something unfortunate has occurred, we'll be able to deal with it all the better if we keep a level head."

Bill Weasley nodded his agreement. "We don't even know that this is about Harry."

"If it wasn't about Harry, Albus wouldn't have called me back from Vienna!" Sirius argued, his voice rising.

The sound of the floo whooshing to life in the other room spared them from further argument. Dumbledore stepped through the doorway, looking tired and worn. Sirius's heart seized at the grim expression upon the man's face, and he clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

"Albus," Molly rose from the table and rushed to the man's side. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and new wrinkles seemed to have creased her forehead overnight. "What's happened, is Harry-"

She broke off, her hand flying to her mouth as if she couldn't bear to speak her greatest fears aloud. Arthur stood and pulled her back to the table. She leaned against him, looking weary.

Dumbledore nodded to Arthur and took his place at the head of the table. He didn't sit, merely rested his palms against the scratched oak surface and bowed his head. He looked heavy, as if all the world's burdens had suddenly made their place upon his shoulders. Sirius wanted to scream at him; he wanted to shout and rant and rave and demand to know what the man had thought he was doing sending Harry to the other side of the world with Snape and Malfoy, of all people, but his voice stuck in his throat. He didn't want the Headmaster to acknowledge his worst fear; he wanted this all to be a terrible nightmare.

For a moment, they all waited, frozen in place. Dumbledore took a deep breath and looked up again. His eyes were dim.

"Harry's plane has crashed," he announced without preamble. "It is at the bottom of the sea."

For one breathless moment there was silence, then the room around Sirius erupted. The noise was garbled, battering his mind like a belligerent banshee. His vision swam dangerously, the faces and shapes of his guests blurring into a collage of sickening colors as dizziness surged inside him. Images danced in his head, horrible images of Harry terrified and alone on that plane as it burst into flames and plummeted into the ocean. He could see the flames and feel the heat of their breath as they danced mockingly around his godson; he could smell the acrid scent of burnt flesh and hear the screams of the hundreds of muggles trapped in the inferno, and it was too much.

He thought that he had been prepared to hear the worst -- Voldemort abducting Harry before he could make it on the plane, Voldemort reducing the airport to rubble with a well-placed _Reducto_ or two, Voldemort discovering the location of the safe house and murdering all those within. Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort. That something else could go wrong, something so muggle, something they were virtually powerless to prevent, had never crossed his mind.

He'd been ready to seize up his wand and storm the dark wizard's lair -- wherever it was -- and fight to his death to save Harry, had any of the scenarios creeping around in his mind come true, but this -- he couldn't march down to the airport and demand vengeance from whomever was responsible for this.

"Will everyone please calm down?" Dumbledore boomed over the cacophony.

The sheer ridiculousness of such a request snapped Sirius's mind back into focus. Anger leapt into his throat, freeing his voice from its cage of shock. "Calm down?" he growled in disbelief, glaring furiously across the table. "You've just told us Harry is dead--"

His throat thickened around the words, his voice cracking into silence. Dead. His godson, dead. Drowned. After all they'd done to keep him safe, to hide him from Voldemort and Death Eaters and all those evil beings that would have liked nothing more than to do the honors themselves, his godson was dead at the hands of muggles and their preposterous technology.

Dropping into a seat, his anger faded. Ice crept through his veins, flushing out the fire and numbing his heart until all he felt was all-encompassing, soul-crushing failure. He'd failed James, he'd failed Lily, and now he'd failed Harry. He might as well have died in Azkaban; he deserved nothing more.

"Sirius," someone shook his arm and knelt down beside him.

He raised his head dazedly and found himself staring into concerned amber eyes. "Remus?" he asked, confused, his voice wavering.

"All hope is not lost, Sirius, not yet," Remus urged gently. "Albus does not believe Harry has... he believes that Harry is still alive."

"Is this true?" Sirius hissed, his eyes darting back to the head of the table.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I cannot be certain in any of this, you understand," he warned, "but I am confident that Harry, at least, is still alive. What has befallen Severus or young Mr. Malfoy I can only guess, though I am hopeful that where we find Harry, we will find the others."

Molly gave a strangled cry and wrenched her hand from her husband's grip. "How can you know this, Albus?"

"The wards at Harry's Aunt's house are still holding. They are weak and have been fading quickly since his eviction from the house, but they have not yet failed completely. Their nature is such that if Harry had perished for any reason whatsoever, be it caused by Voldemort or merely unfortunate circumstance, they would fall immediately. While they still hold, we can be assured that Harry still breathes."

Kingsley, who'd been relatively quiet since the shocking news, spoke up. "Do you think Voldemort had something to do with the crash?" he asked calmly. Of all those gathered he'd taken the news without much visible reaction, no doubt a quality he'd picked up from years of serving in the Auror Corps. One of the first things they taught was how to deal with any type of situation professionally and objectively.

"No," Dumbledore shook his head, "I do not believe Voldemort had any knowledge of our plan to send Harry away. This seems to be entirely a cruel trick of fate."

"These airyplanes," Arthur began after clearing his throat, "don't they have some sort of safety feature? An emergency exit or some such?"

"I confess I do not understand completely the mystery of muggle machinery, but I'm quite sure such a thing would not be possible," Dumbledore answered, "unfortunate as it may be."

"They don't," Tonks added definitively. "I remember my father using them once or twice when I was still in Hogwarts. Once you're up in the air there isn't any other way out than down."

Sirius slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the legs against the tile floor. "Enough," he rasped. "We do not have time to sit here and speculate whether or not these things are safe -- obviously they are not! Harry might be out there somewhere, injured or alone; we must do something Albus!"

"I intend to spare no effort in this Sirius, you may be assured of that," Dumbledore promised gravely. "However, before we proceed any further, I must impress upon you all how urgent it is that this information not leave this room. It is vital that Voldemort not have reason to suspect Harry is anywhere but in our care. If he were to discover Harry's whereabouts before we are able to, the consequences will most surely be disastrous. If Harry is alone, if somehow he has been separated from Severus's protection, he will be an easy target for any Death Eater looking to catapult his way up the ranks."

As much as Sirius wanted to disagree, as much as he wanted every available member of the Order out there looking for his godson, he knew that Dumbledore was right. Looking around at the faces before him -- Remus, Molly, Arthur, Bill, Kingsley and Tonks -- he knew he could trust them all to guard the information with their lives, if need be. There was too much at stake to risk someone less dedicated deciding Harry's life wasn't worth a bout of _Cruciatus_.

"What of the people at the safe house?" Remus asked suddenly. "They must have reasoned out by now that something's gone wrong; can we be sure of their cooperation?" He pulled out a chair next to Sirius and sat down.

"I've spoken with my contact overseas," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "He will make certain his people do not divulge the information needlessly. He assures me those involved are all very reliable, and I believe we can trust him on this."

"Good," Kingsley added, nodding, his voice calm. He leaned forward and launched into what Sirius had previously dubbed, 'investigation mode'. "What are the facts, Albus? We've got to see what we're working with here."

Dumbledore pulled a large scroll out of his robes and unfurled it on the table, sticking it to the surface with a wave of his hand. It was a map, hand-drawn on aged brown vellum with ink of startlingly vibrant colors. The ocean lapped serenely across the paper in waves of bright cerulean blue, crashing into a flurry of white foam against the borders of the landmasses dotting the paper. As Sirius watched, a large eel-like creature rose from its depths and wrapped its tail around what appeared to be the bottommost tip of Africa.

Tonks whistled. "That's some map you've got there, Professor." She leaned forward and poked the bristling dark trees growing out of a stretch of land labeled 'Germania', but snatched her hand back when a flock of tiny black birds squawked at the intrusion and took flight towards the Asian border.

"Yes, yes, quite remarkable isn't it?" Dumbledore murmured and brushed aside a cloud hanging over the British Isles. It spat out a mist of grey ink and slid sulkily down to hover over France.

"Now as we know, Harry, Severus and Mr. Malfoy left here on the plane from London," he continued and tapped part of England with his wand. A pool of black ink welled up around the mark and spread across the paper into a thick black X, shaking its limbs dry before laying still. He made a similar notation over the northeastern coast of North America. Curling black letters accompanied the X, but Sirius couldn't read them upside down. "They were to arrive here several days ago."

Bill stood and craned his neck over his father's shoulder. "What does that say? Ipswich?"

"One of the more populated wizard settlements in America, I've heard," Kingsley remarked, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "My sister went there once on holiday; quaint little town, she said."

"That does us no good," Sirius protested. "We know Harry didn't make it there; we should be looking somewhere else!"

"Perhaps we ought to address possible explanations why they did not arrive," Kingsley suggested. "If we can reason out why they did not go where they were supposed to, it may help us determine where they did."

"Do you have any theories, Professor?" Tonks asked.

Dumbledore stroked his beard and hummed to himself for a moment. "Severus would not sit idly by and wait for the plane to crash into the ocean," he mused after a moment. "No, I am confident he would have done all in his power to get the boys out of there at the first sign of trouble."

Molly was nodding. "Yes, yes of course," she agreed. Her voice still wavered slightly and her cheeks were chapped with tears, but she took a deep breath and carried on. "He could Apparate them out of the plane, surely? The muggles wouldn't be able to prevent that, would they?"

"They do not have the means to establish any sort of muggle anti-apparition wards, no."

"But wouldn't he have come straight here?" she insisted. "How far can Severus Apparate, with two boys in tow?"

Sirius growled inwardly at the thought of Snape Apparating anywhere with his godson, emergency or no. "Has anyone stopped to consider that this is Snape we're talking about?" he interrupted darkly, tearing his gaze away from the wondrous map to glare at the man across the table. "Perhaps he wasn't as loyal as you thought! He could have taken Harry straight to Voldemort!"

Surprisingly it was Molly, not Albus, who launched the most strident defense. "Sirius Black!" she scolded, rising from her chair and puffing herself like an affronted hippogriff. "Severus Snape may not be a very pleasant man, but he is a trustworthy one! To think of all the danger he puts himself in, risking his life every day to spy on You-Know-Who, only to be rewarded with you disparaging his good name and sacrifice just to satisfy some schoolboy rivalry! I'd never believe for an instant he'd harm a hair on either of those boys' heads, and neither should you!"

"But--"

"Not another word!" she demanded shrilly. "If Harry's been injured, Severus may be the only one with him who can take care of him! It's lucky for you he's too honorable to take offense to your childish and petty insults and refuse to help him just to spite you!"

Arthur stood and laid a consoling arm around his wife's shoulder. "Now dear, there's no need to get excited," he soothed, throwing a significant glance in Sirius's direction. "I'm sure Sirius will agree Severus would never do such a thing."

"Quite right," Dumbledore agreed, looking slightly amused at the female Weasley's vehement defense of his Potion's Master. "No doubt Sirius is aware that Severus's considerable skills will be a great asset in keeping our two young students well cared for, wherever they may be. I, of course, have the most utmost faith he is doing everything in his power to ensure their safety."

Sirius scowled inwardly. There was no question Snape's skills with potions were near legendary, and that he was also a considerably fair hand at both offensive and defensive magics, and _if_ he'd been a trustworthy sort of man those skills would be especially useful in keeping Harry safe from any danger that might have befallen him. That was just the problem -- he didn't trust the man. He was a vile, reprehensible wizard -- always had been and always would be. In Sirius's opinion, getting the Dark Mark tattooed on your forearm was an awful long way to go for the cause. He'd go to enormous lengths himself to ensure Voldemort's defeat, but willingly being branded with the evil wizard's mark was not one of them. In his mind, it took a particular type of person to do so, one that might not regard the mark as such an imposition in the first place.

He opened his mouth to voice further objections, despite the rather quelling glare Molly still shot in his direction, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"He is on our side, Sirius," Remus declared softly, his eyes filled with sincerity. "Truly, he is."

It was this unwavering insistence from Remus that made him shut his mouth and silence his protests. He knew Molly was nothing if not a fierce and devoted mother, and that she would never intentionally put any child in harm's way, but that didn't mean she couldn't be fooled. Snape was a Slytherin -- cunning and manipulative to the core, the whole lot of them.

Dumbledore's faith in the man might have been enough for him at one point, had he not already questioned the man's decision to send Harry on this fool's errand to begin with. For his godson's sake, he was prepared to accept nothing but complete, irrefutable proof.

For him, that was Remus. He trusted him unconditionally, would take his word over any other in the world, and if the man was convinced that Severus Snape was truly on their side, he would concede.

"How can you be sure, Moony?" he pleaded softly, needing his oldest friend's reassurance more now than ever.

"We can never really be sure of anything, Padfoot," the soft-spoken man answered, smiling sadly, "but I trust him. More importantly, I trust him with Harry's life, and so should you."

Sirius stared into his friend's calm amber eyes, searching relentlessly for any sign, any stirring of doubt. When he could find none, he set his jaw in a firm line and nodded. Until they found Harry, he would trust his one-time rival, but if anything happened to his godson, if even one hair was out of place on his head when they did, he would walk through Hades itself to find Severus Snape and make all those years in Azkaban count for all they were worth.

* * *

"I don't like this Remus," Sirius growled after Dumbledore had disappeared through the floo. They'd broken up the meeting not long after the heated argument about Snape's loyalties without coming to a definitive conclusion about how they were going to find the missing wizards.

Tonks and Kingsley had gone away with a promise to make some discreet inquiries at the Ministry in the morning, to make sure there was no suspicion of wizard involvement or Harry's presence on the plane. They'd also pledged to look into any information they had on Ipswich or the surrounding area.

'We don't keep a whole lot of intelligence on every other wizard settlement in the world, but we'll contact you in the morning if anything suspicious comes to light,' Kingsley had assured them sincerely, and then the two Aurors disappeared through the floo.

The Weasley's had left soon after, Bill lending his distraught mother his arm while Arthur stayed behind to offer one last vow of assistance, and then he too was gone. Dumbledore stayed on, talking quietly with Remus while Sirius brooded into the fire. From the snippets of conversation he caught in between his dark thoughts, they'd been discussing possible ways to trace any of the three wizards using some sort of spell or charm, but from the sound of it they hadn't had much luck. Eventually the aged wizard had promised to come back in the morning after researching the matter more thoroughly in the Hogwarts library, and left the two remaining wizards in the empty house.

Remus spelled the fire out and sat on the sofa next to him, leaning back into the cushions and rubbing his hands over his eyes. "Nor do I," he admitted tiredly.

"How can we just sit here?" Sirius demanded, his voice betraying his frustration. "We should be out looking for Harry!"

Remus sighed. "We cannot search the whole world," he answered. "We have to have a place to start."

"Why not!" Sirius challenged angrily. "I'd go anywhere for Harry, anywhere in the world!"

A sad smile tugged at the werewolf's lips. "You're right of course. As would I," he admitted, "but you know it's impractical. If we start running off randomly to every corner of the earth we'll never find him."

Sirius scowled. Remus was right, of course, but it didn't make the truth easier to bear. "We will find him, Remus, won't we?" he asked, his anger fading into quiet despair. If anything happened to Harry, he'd never forgive himself.

"Of course we will," Remus promised. He sat up and squeezed his hand over Sirius's clenched fists. "We'll find him and we'll bring him home, no matter what it takes."

Home. Yes, they would bring Harry home, Sirius vowed to himself, his throat too thick to speak the sentiment aloud. His heart threatened to burst at the love that surged when he thought of Harry's smiling face. No matter what it took, no matter how long, he would never rest until his godson was safe. He would find him, and he would bring him home, if it was the last thing he ever did.


	5. Hopes & Plans

**Chapter Five**

Sirius was up in the attic, his face buried in the soft feathers of Buckbeak's shoulder. It was late, or early. Out the window the sky was still black, but the horizon glowed faintly with the promise of sunrise. Remus had fallen into bed scarcely an hour ago, his gentle brown eyes glazed with weariness, but Sirius wasn't ready to face the solitude of sleep just yet. The feeling of helplessness churning inside him was easier to bear in tandem. He didn't fancy spilling his soul to Kreacher, so he took his sorrows to the only other living creature in the house. He'd spent many a night while he was on the run with only the proud hippogriff for company, and he'd come to find the noble bird's silent presence soothing. 

He sighed and closed his eyes, breathing in the musky scent of feathers and down just as his mother started wailing through the house. Frowning, he gave the bird one last pat on the beak and slipped his wand out of his pocket. He wasn't expecting Albus or the Aurors back for several hours yet, and while no one particularly dangerous would have been able to enter the house, he didn't feel much like leaving it to chance. The shock of Harry's disappearance filled him with a caution that was completely alien to him. 

"Old hag," he muttered aloud as he made his way down the attic stairs, "probably had a nightmare about sunshine and puppies."

He stopped on the second floor to peek inside Remus's door. The room was dark, and a gentle snore coming from the bed in the corner confirmed the werewolf was still sleeping. He shut the door carefully, not wanting to wake the man. That he hadn't woken already from the shrieking, louder now and twice as shrill, was a testament to how exhausted he'd been when he'd finally turned in.

Mrs. Black paused for a brief, imaginary breath, and Sirius heard the hush of whispered voices drift up from below.

"Oh be quiet you old biddy," someone hissed, "you'll wake the whole house!"

"My House!" the portrait moaned, "My noble House!"

"Be quiet or I'll hex your mouth off!" another voice scolded, this one softer but no less threatening -- a girl.

"It's no use, Hermione," the first said despondently. "They've got to be up by now -- no way anybody could sleep through that."

Hermione? Sirius mouthed to himself in surprise. Lowering his wand he hurried down the rest the steps and raised his eyebrow at the two young students lurking in his hallway. "Ron, Hermione," he greeted, "what in Merlin's name are you two doing here? How did you get here?"

Hermione straightened at the sound of his voice. She turned towards him and lifted her head, her expression determined. "Hello Sirius," she said politely. "We came through the floor, of course." 

Ron smiled sheepishly, half-hidden behind the determined young witch. "Hullo Sirius."

The portrait, who'd been watching the introductions with wary interest -- no doubt hoping the two young ones that had disturbed her would end up in some sort of trouble -- sobbed loudly again when it appeared no curses were going to fly. "Filth!" she cried. "Filth sneaking about in my father's house!"

"Oh shut up," Sirius scowled and slashed his wand through the air. The curtain dropped over the portrait, muffling the woman's protests. "Such a bloody drama queen, she is."

He turned back to Harry's two friends, fixing them with a stern glare. Hermione stared back, unruffled. "Not that you're not welcome here," he began, "but what are you doing sneaking about in the middle of the night?"

"It's hardly the middle of the night," the girl sniffed. "The sun is coming up. Besides, it couldn't wait. We need to know what's happened to Harry."

"Harry?" Sirius's heart lurched. His tongue grew heavy and he stared at the two students in disbelief. "What do you know about Harry?"

Hermione fished something out of her pocket and waved it in the air. "Hedwig brought me this letter last week. It says that he won't be able to write us the rest of the summer, but he didn't explain why. I thought it was odd at first, because Harry's always told us everything, but I assumed Professor Dumbledore had his reasons," she began calmly. 

"When I got to the Burrow last night Ron told me he'd overheard his parents talking about Harry; he said they sounded very worried, so of course we waited up for them to come back. We know they came here for an emergency meeting. I saw Mrs. Weasley's face when she came back, Sirius. I know something is wrong, and I want to know what it is! If Harry's in trouble we want to help!"

Sirius suddenly felt very tired. He glanced down at the letter the girl had given him. It was just a short note -- no doubt Albus hadn't given the boy much time to prepare before shipping him off with Snape. Fondly, he traced his finger over his godson's signature -- Love Harry -- and remembered all the letters Hedwig had delivered to him over the past two years. Every time he saw that white bird winging towards him in the sky, his heart had lightened, no matter where he'd been at the time. She was quite a remarkable owl; she'd found him in some very remote places of the world during the past couple years. 

His heart skipped. "Where's Hedwig now?" he cried and seized Hermione by the shoulders.

"She's at the Burrow--" 

Sirius didn't wait for the startled young witch to finish; he turned around and raced back up the stairs. "Moony!" he shouted, no longer concerned about waking the sleeping man. He stopped outside the bedroom and pounded on the door. "Moony, wake up!"

A blurry-eyed Remus opened the door after a moment, his face awash with confusion and concern. "What is it Sirius?" he asked. "Did they find him?"

"Find him!" an indignant young voice exclaimed from the top of the stairs. "Do you mean Harry?" Hermione continued. "What's happened? Where is he?"

"Hermione?" Remus frowned as he stepped out of the doorway. "What on earth are you doing here? And Ron too?"

He glanced questioningly at Sirius, who shrugged. "Don't look at me Moony," he answered. "Found them downstairs lurking about in the hall with my mother."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Do your parents know you're here, Ron?"

Ron's cheeks turned red and he slouched behind Hermione, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like a No.

"They'll know soon enough Remus," Sirius said and waved away the man's concern. "Hermione has had the most brilliant idea!"

"I have?" the girl asked, confused.

"Did you tell them?" Remus asked, surprised. 

"Tell us what?" Hermione interrupted fiercely. "What is going on?"

Remus sighed and rubbed his temples. "Sirius why don't you take Hermione and Ron down to the kitchen and make some coffee. I'll get dressed and floo the Weasleys; I think one missing child is quite enough for Molly to be dealing with at the moment."

"Might as well have them all come through, since we're up," Sirius called back as he ushered the young witch and wizard down the stairs, despite copious protests from both of them. "And ask them to bring Hedwig!"

\------------------------------ 

Sirius stared at the blank piece of parchment in front of him and tapped the edge of the quill against his cheek. He'd originally intended to write just a short note -- Hello; hope you're well; where the bloody hell are you -- but Hedwig had gone out to hunt sometime during the night and hadn't yet returned to the Burrow. He'd decided to take the time to compose a longer letter, thinking Harry would appreciate it wherever he was, but now he didn't know where to begin. All the things he wanted to say whirled around in his head like a storm, refusing to settle. Was Harry alright? Was he hurt? How had they gotten off the plane? Had they 'really' gotten off the plane or had Dumbledore finally gone barking mad? Where was he now? Why hadn't he sent a message? Was Snape behaving himself? Was Malfoy being a prick? Was he safe? 

Every time he began his words seemed woefully inadequate. The need inside him to make sure his godson was safe and alive was not satisfied with writing a letter. He'd argued for following behind Hedwig on Buckbeak; he wanted to be there when the owl found Harry. He didn't want to waste a moment waiting for a reply; he wasn't sure that he could wait and keep hold of the last vestiges of sanity left to him after Azkaban, knowing that Harry was out there somewhere, needing him. 

Dumbledore hadn't agreed, so he was stuck, writing this letter that refused to be written. Sighing, he glanced up and looked around the room. The house was once again silent -- not empty, but silent. Molly had come flying through the floo in a tizzy, set to drag the two children back to the Burrow and tuck them back in their beds, but Ron had finally spoken up and stubbornly refused to go anywhere until someone told him where Harry was and why everyone was so worried. Luckily Remus had had the forethought to call Dumbledore as well, and the Headmaster had given his blessing. He'd taken them aside and calmly explained what had befallen their best friend. After the shock settled, the two loyal Gryffindors had steadfastly refused to leave, and were now ensconced in two large armchairs across the room doing research. Sirius suspected that had been more Hermione's doing than Ron's, but the young wizard was valiantly skimming the pages of a very large and dusty tomb the girl had secured from one of the shelves lining the wall. 

The Black Family library was magnificent and vast -- the pride and joy of his grandfather, Pollux. Sirius had never found the room particularly inviting; growing up he'd never been one for books, and he found the atmosphere inside the dark room stifling and overwhelming. It had never been the sanctuary for him that it had been for his grandfather. Thick velvet curtains hung heavily over the large windows, leaving the room too dark and shadowed for him to find any comfort there. Despite his aversion to the room, he could not deny the information contained on the many shelves lining the walls was a treasure many studious wizards would salivate at the mention of. Eyeing some of the questionable titles on the shelf nearest him, he admitted many a dark wizard would find them tempting as well. Hopefully somewhere within all those musty pages was an answer, something that would help them find Harry if Hedwig -- he swallowed thickly and forced himself to finish the thought -- if Hedwig failed.

Blinking away the sting in his eye, he scrawled a quick message on the parchment unfurled on the desk. There was no time to get lost in his thoughts, no time to write something perfect. He needed to be ready as soon as Hedwig returned. Arthur had gone back to the Burrow to wait her arrival, promising not to waste a moment before bringing her along. 

Sirius stood and stretched. His mind was once again fully awake, but his limbs protested the lack of sleep. He listened for a moment to the loud banging coming from the kitchen and reluctantly decided against a second cup of coffee. When Molly had no success bundling the two children back along towards innocence, she huffed off to the kitchen to take her displeasure out on all his pots and pans. He didn't fancy intruding on her now for a little bit of caffeine. 

"Find anything useful?" he asked as he crossed the room to join his godson's friends with their research. His letter might be written, but his duty was not done. He wouldn't rest until they had a backup plan. He grabbed a book off the stack piled high next to one of the chairs and flipped it open. 

Hermione looked up. Her face was calm and her voice steady, but her brown eyes swam in a sea of red, and her hands were very white against the dark binding of the book she clung to. "Nothing promising," she replied. "Several charms to find misplaced objects and a few spells to locate hidden treasures, but nothing we can use."

"This book is disgusting," Ron added, grimacing as he gingerly turned a page and a diagram of a goat strung up by its hooves appeared. "They don't teach this kind of Divination at Hogwarts."

"I'm sure Harry will be disgusted with us also if we can't find a way to rescue him," Hermione scolded, but nevertheless switched books with the young Weasley. "I'll read this one if it's too much for you."

Ron scowled but didn't protest. Sirius didn't blame him. Some of those books were a bit too much to handle without going green and rushing to the loo. 

\-----------------------------------

Dumbledore came back that evening with Tonks and Kingsley in tow. They gathered again in the kitchen, making room for the two new additions. Molly tried her hand again, but Sirius insisted they deserved to be there. They hadn't left the library all day, and though they had little to show for their efforts so far, he wouldn't hear of excluding them. Arthur had agreed, and the Weasley matriarch had fallen silent with a glare. 

Sirius frowned and squeezed the woman's hand with his own. He sympathized, now more than ever, with the desire to protect one's children from anything and everything, to keep them safely hidden away in childhood, innocent of all the dark, harsh realities of the world. "They won't be doing anything dangerous," he assured her. "They're his best friends. They deserve to know what’s going on."

She nodded, a tear bright in her eye, and motioned for the two young students to sit. They scurried into their seats with grateful looks and sat quietly. 

"Good evening, everyone," the headmaster began as he waited for everyone to settle around the table. "We've little new information, and so far the research on all fronts has been slow. Kingsley, perhaps you could share your findings?"

Clearing his throat, the dark-skinned Auror stood and nodded. "Certainly," he agreed. "We've gathered what information the Ministry has on Ipswich and the surrounding area. Unfortunately there is not much. They operate differently across the pond and there's no centralized government there we can negotiate with."

"They don't have a Ministry?" Arthur interrupted curiously. 

Kingsley shook his head. "The wizarding population in America is quite spread out. Settlements have popped up here and there, but they're all effectively self-governing. Some of the larger ones may be more structured than others, but nothing like we're used to here."

"And what about Ipswich in particular?" Remus asked.

"One of the larger communities, relatively speaking. There's a small Muggle population, mostly fishermen and tourists and the like. The magical community is much larger; they do have a school located there, Ipswich Academy, but it doesn't seem to be one of the more popular ones in the country."

"Is that where you were sending Harry?" Hermione asked, mildly horrified. "To another school?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Miss Granger. We're rather fond of Harry at Hogwarts," he smiled gently. "I think your Head of House, at least, would have several strident objections if I thought to transfer him to another school. I assure you the trip was only planned to last through the summer."

"The town is run by a Council of Elders of sorts. The positions are elected, but for the most part they seem to have been held by the same families for quite some time," the Auror continued, shuffling through some papers he had spread out on the table in front of him. "We've looked into some of the family names, but no one was flagged in our database of Voldemort sympathizers. Some dark families to be sure, but that far away the Death Eaters may not have been that interested in recruiting. We don't have a lot of background available at the Ministry, but no recognizable names. There've been no major conflicts involving the town or surrounding area in the last fifty years, according to the town history."

"Anything else, Kingsley?" he continued.

"Not unless you care to know which shops have the best souvenirs, which is all my sister was able to tell me." 

"That's it?" Sirius asked incredulously. He couldn't believe the Headmaster would send Harry halfway across the world with so little information on his destination.

“This is all a matter of public record, easily obtainable by anyone with an interest in politics or history,” Kingsley explained. “I’m afraid we don’t have access to any more in depth information.”

“What about your contact, Albus?” Remus inquired calmly. “Could he supply any more information?”

The Headmaster drummed his fingers against the knotted table and stroked his beard. “I have already spoken to him at great length on the matter. There is little he can tell me about Severus or Harry or young Mr. Malfoy. He’s investigated the plane crash discreetly, but he’s found out nothing we do not already known. I think perhaps it would be best…”

He trailed off, glancing at Sirius and Remus in turn and humming thoughtfully. “Yes, I think it would be best if we sent our own representative to investigate, someone who’d be more likely to spot any sign of our boys than one who’s never met them.”

Sirius leapt to his feet. “I’ll go.” 

This was what he’d been waiting for, his chance to act, to do something. If Harry was hurt, if he was hiding, he needed someone he could trust searching for him. 

Dumbledore nodded. “Remus, I’d like you to go as well, if you are amenable.”

“Of course, Albus,” the soft-spoken man nodded. 

“Oh!” Hermione started, then blushed. “But, what about the full moon?”

Remus smiled. “Werewolves survive quite well in the Americas; in fact I believe their laws are quite less stringent than ours here. I thank you for your concern, but I will be fine.”

Clapping his hands together, the Headmaster stood. “Good. Kingsley, how soon can you procure us an international portkey? Discreetly of course.” 

“I should be able to get one in the morning,” the Auror replied. 

“Excellent,” Dumbledore replied. “Gentlemen, I suggest you go and pack.”


	6. For Now Is Not For Ever

**Chapter Six**

“Where did you get that?” Harry demanded, his hands freezing in the act of wringing out his sodden t-shirt. 

Draco froze. “Get what?” he sniffed airily, and brushed a speck of dirt off the sleeve of his powder blue shirt. His remarkably clean, and more importantly, his completely dry powder blue shirt. 

Harry might not have noticed the change had it not rained the night before. The heavy torrents came swiftly, rousing the three wizards cursing out of their slumber and sending them darting into the cover of the trees. Despite their quick retreat, the damage had been done -- they passed the rest of the night cold, irritable and soaked to the bone. Yet, there was Draco, looking perfectly comfortable in a dry shirt he’d definitely not woken up wearing that damp morning. 

“You know what I’m talking about Malfoy!” Harry growled angrily. “You didn’t have that on this morning!” 

“So what?” the other boy sneered. “What I do with my things isn’t any of your concern, Potter!” 

Harry fumed. “It most certainly is! What else have you been hiding? If you’ve got any food--” 

“If I had any food I certainly wouldn’t be subjecting myself to the meager rations you’ve been serving up every night!” 

It was the beginning of their second week on the island but their situation had improved only negligibly. Snape disappeared each afternoon to explore the surrounding area, but despite the arsenal of plants and vegetation he’d started building up from the samples he collected on his excursions, their diet was still one of the nuts, roots and berries variety. 

Harry had had worse, so he didn’t complain. Malfoy, however, had taken to saving up all his venom until Snape was far out of hearing distance and then letting his opinions loose, much to Harry’s annoyance. It was an unwelcome change from the sulky, silent Malfoy he’d been dealing with the week before. 

As a result, the atmosphere that morning was unpleasant. Tension between the three wizards was already running high -- though they all agreed that some sort of shelter was quickly becoming necessary, the execution of the plan left much to be desired. Not one of them had any idea how to go about building anything, especially without magic. Draco was particularly bewildered by the notion of nails or glue or any other such means Harry came up with that might enable them to hold something together. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t possible without magic, no matter that Muggles had mastered the art of construction by manual means centuries before. 

If they continued in this vein much longer, one of them was going to snap. Harry bit his tongue, refusing to give in to the urge to lunge at Malfoy and send him careening down the beach into the ocean. Snape had been passably civil so far, and he had enough stress to deal with without giving the professor incentive to start making his days more miserable than they were already. 

"Does Snape know you've been hiding things?" he asked after a taking a deep breath. He would remain calm. He would not act like a child. He would not pick fights with Malfoy -- unless the git really, really deserved it. 

Draco's eyes flashed and he scowled. "Always sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong, aren't you Potter? It's none of Professor Snape's business if I've got a spare shirt lying around. He certainly can't expect me to suffer and wear rags like you just because you were raised by heathens and don't know how to take proper care of your things." 

"Spare shirt? So that's all it is?" Harry growled, his calm and good intentions quickly evaporating. Something about Malfoy -- the glint of the dim sunlight off his white blonde hair, the haughty way his nostrils flared when he was angry, the splotch of red blossoming on his pale, sun-starved skin -- something about the pretentious Slytherin made all his good intentions fray at the seams. It was too easy to see him for what he was -- spoiled, arrogant and selfish. "I don't believe it!" 

"Believe what you want; it makes no difference to me!" Draco sneered and stormed off towards the trees. 

Snape had announced that morning that he would be venturing further inland that afternoon on his daily excursion, and wasn't likely to be back before nightfall the day after next. Dealing with Malfoy's temper, unfettered and irrational, for the next two days was not something Harry was looking forward to. He'd rather have gone with the professor, but the man had sneered at that suggestion and remarked that the two boys better behave while he was away or suffer his displeasure. 

Harry twisted his cold, wet shirt in his hands and scowled. "I don't see why I have to behave if he's not going to behave," he muttered, and glared at the retreating boy in his warm, pristine shirt. He scowled and shook his wet shirt in the breeze. Countless trips hauling red berries out of the forest had stained the fabric red, and the scouring he'd just given it in the salty ocean water would no doubt leave it feeling stiff and gritty once it dried. Sighing, he laid it out on a flat rock and glanced up at the sky. Despite the foul weather through the night, the sun was shining now and the wind was calm. It was warm enough that he didn't bother digging out his only other piece of apparel -- a bright red Weasley sweater he'd shoved in his carry-on bag before they'd boarded the plane -- though he'd soon enough change his mind later on once the sun sank beneath the horizon. Hopefully Malfoy would stay out of his way until Snape returned. Harry could think of well enough to do to keep busy. He'd already scavenged the driest pieces he could find from the tree line so Snape could restart the fire before he left on his hike. Hopefully the rain would hold off until the man returned, or the two boys were going to have to make do without even the small comfort the crackling fire seemed to exude. In either case, the fire wouldn't last long fueled by the rain-soaked supply of kindling he'd previously collected at the camp for easy use. He meant to venture further into the forest -- hopefully the thick canopy had staved off the rain in some parts that he'd find wood passably dry enough to burn. He'd lay the rest out to dry in the sun and that would have to be good enough. If luck was with him he'd be able to find enough before midday; there were some other projects ruminating in his mind that he wanted to try his hand at that afternoon. 

Unfortunately, his luck was starting out just rotten; Draco was hovering underneath the trees, staring into the dark forest hesitantly. Harry veered off in the other direction, hoping to pass by the other boy without incident, but the blonde saw him coming and scurried over to intercept him. 

"Are you going into the forest, Potter?" Draco demanded. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Appears that way, doesn't it?" He kept walking, hoping his companion would lose interest, but the other boy fell into step beside him. "Can I help you?" he added sarcastically. 

"I'm hungry."

Harry swallowed a lump of irritation, but he couldn't keep the scowl off his face. "So? What do you want me to do about it?" he demanded rudely. "You've already had your share of breakfast and I'm not going to drop everything and go run out to find you more. You can get it yourself if you're that desperate." He lengthened his stride and ducked under a low hanging branch, wishing that the other boy would either get to the point or give up and leave him alone. 

Draco sneered haughtily and stumbled underneath the bough awkwardly. "I'm not daft, whatever you might think," he responded, then clamped his mouth shut. 

Harry stopped suddenly and nudged a large fallen trunk with his shoe; it squished unpleasantly beneath his toes and he wrinkled his nose. It was almost completely rotted through. Behind him, Draco watched on in silence; it was almost as annoying as when he ran his mouth. The boy couldn't possibly mean to follow him around aimlessly all day. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he asked, annoyed. 

Draco cleared his throat. "I was wondering," he began, then hesitated. His cheeks flushed and he ripped a leaf off the low branch and twisted it between his fingers. 

Harry stooped over to inspect a few smaller branches that had cracked beneath his feet. They were dry enough, though small and thin; they would be good enough for kindling. Satisfied he broke them in thirds and wedged the tiny bundle under his arm. He'd have to see about finding a better way to carry them, especially if he had to wander further away from the beach to find as much as he was hoping too. He brushed the dirt off his hand and started walking again. Draco dutifully started following again. "You were wondering what?" Harry prompted, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. 

"I don't remember the way to that clearing, the one with the berries." The words tumbled out of the blonde's mouth in a blurted rush, as if he couldn't quite figure out how to form the sounds. He flushed again, and snapped his lips together. 

Harry stopped. "You've followed me there three times," he stated incredulously. "Not that you ever lifted a finger to actually help once we got there." 

Draco nodded awkwardly. "I know, I..." he trailed off, his cheeks blushing brighter with every word. "I can't remember. I don't want to get lost." His troubled eyes darted quickly off into the distance of the dark forest and he grimaced. 

"Let me get this straight," Harry said slowly. "You complain and whinge and snark at me every day when I try to get you to help with anything, and now you want me to do something for you? You must be mad." He shook his head and grabbed another branch off the ground. It was wet and bent too easily in his hands, so he threw it back. 

"Potter, please. I..." 

It was the soft, desperate plea that halted him. He'd never heard Malfoy beg anyone for anything before, not seriously. Not even in jest, for that matter. But there he was, and here he was. He turned back and stared at the other boy. He was always aware of Malfoy whenever the git was anywhere near him, but he hadn't spent much time looking closely at the boy. Now, his eyes raked over that pale skin and noted not only the embarrassed flush of his cheeks but the sickly pale pink hue on his forehead and the dark grey smear beneath his eyes. Malfoy did not look good. Not horrible, to be sure, but not good. Certainly nothing wrong that would kill him. Probably. 

Harry ran a hand angrily through his tangled hair and turned away. He did not want to help Malfoy. He believed with an almost fanatic conviction that Malfoy would not help him if the situation was reversed. And yet, he knew what it was like to be sick, and so hungry you weren't sure if you'd die first from starvation or the disease. Malfoy wasn't that far gone yet, not hardly, but he easily could be. Everything can get worse -- a lesson Harry was intimately familiar with. 

"Fine," he growled, and started walking. He turned sharply to the left, away from his original path. "But don't think I'm going to serve you once we get there. If you want to eat you can pick them yourself; I've got other things to do." 

Malfoy didn't answer, but he jumped to keep up. Harry pretended he didn't see the relief in the boy's eyes, and they walked the rest of the way in silence but for the occasional soft crack of the twigs and old pine needles beneath their feet. 

The clearing was only a short walk, and once there Harry was happy enough to leave Draco to his own devices and continue on about his self-imposed chores. There was not much wood in the clearing itself – and none of it dry – but there was plenty enough in the surrounding forest that he soon had collected a pile that was too cumbersome for him to carry back comfortably in his arms. He hefted the bulk of it back to the clearing; he probably could bully Draco into lugging back the other half, but he’d rather not have to rely on the other boy for anything if he could manage. 

The boy in question had sprawled himself on the still wet grass of the forest oasis floor, and was snoring softly. His lips and fingers were painted bright red with berry juice. 

For a moment, Harry considered doing the same – the sun was shining down through the break in the trees and a small nap would be a welcome treat after the previous night’s interruption – but he resisted the impulse to throw himself on the soft ground and sleep until all his problems were forgotten memories. There would be time enough to nap after they were rescued. 

He chuckled darkly to himself. Or maybe not, depending on how celebratory Voldemort decided to get during his absence. He pushed the thought of the evil wizard out of his mind almost as soon as it entered; there was nothing he could do about Voldemort until they were found. Best to concentrate on enduring until then, and worry about Voldemort later. He didn’t quite believe it, though he repeated the thought in his head like a mantra. It helped only slightly. 

There were long grasses growing up underneath the wild berry bushes – some of them snaking their way hopelessly through the brambles and useless to his purpose, but there were enough that had grown free of the throng to suit his needs. He grabbed a handful and pulled them up by the roots, pleased that they were as thick and sturdy as he’d hoped. Taking a seat near his pile of wood, he started the tedious task of braiding the strands tightly together.

His mind wandered while he worked. Malfoy hadn’t stirred, though Harry was not exactly making a point to be quiet. He wondered idly what would have happened to the boy if he and Snape had accidently drowned in the sea. The pampered prince probably would have been dead of dehydration before the week was out. What if only Snape had perished? He snorted, picturing the chaos that would have resulted in that particular scenario. He and Draco probably would have killed each other the first day. It still might happen, especially if the professor made a habit of leaving them alone for extended periods of time.

And what if it had been only him? Supposing Snape and Malfoy were the ones who had been knocked unconscious and Harry had been unable to drag either of them to safety – what would he have done? His hands stilled for a moment and he looked across the glade at the sleeping boy. He looked innocent, lying there in the sunlight. 

He shook his head. He would have found a way to get home. He still would; or Snape would. It didn’t matter what could have happened; the only thing that mattered now was surviving. He would survive this island, he would survive Snape and Malfoy, and then he would go home and survive Voldemort. He refused to believe anything less.

By the time Draco finally roused from his nap a short while later, Harry had three bundles of wood and one of unwoven grass tied neatly with his makeshift rope. He figured he’d bring some back to the camp to experiment with. It wasn’t extremely sturdy, but he had some ideas it might find some use in. 

The sun was high in the sky and the dull ache in his stomach that had been present all morning flared into a resentful pang. He popped a few berries off a nearby bush and into his mouth, and grimaced. The berries were both tart and sweet, and something he might have enjoyed had they not made up half his daily diet, every day. 

“I got some extra for dinner,” Draco announced suddenly, holding up a small cloth pouch awkwardly. He sounded confused, as if he didn’t quite know how to make non-hostile conversation with his most hated rival, or as if he couldn’t figure out why he was even bothering to try. 

Harry was surprised by the offering; it was so unexpected he started for a moment. Getting the other boy to contribute anything so far had been seemed more difficult than coaxing a kneazle to swim. He'd certainly never offered up anything of his own accord. Uncomfortable with the change in behavior, perhaps as uncomfortable as Draco himself, he decided to ignore it. “Are you ready, then?” he asked instead. Draco nodded, so Harry gathered up his spoils for the morning and set off into the trees once more.

* * *

Snape returned earlier than expected, appearing over the crest of a not-so-distant hill just after the two boys had risen and picked their way through a sad excuse for breakfast. Harry had just sat down with his grass gathered before him. He was determined not to spend another night with only the rocky, unforgiving ground for a mattress, and he figured he could fashion some sort of mat by weaving the strands together. It might not be much of an improvement, but at least it would be something. 

Draco had been strangely quiet since their return to camp the previous day. He’d mumbled an uncomfortable thank you when they’d broken free of the trees, and hadn’t uttered a word since. He tended the fire half-heartedly and gazed out at the sea, but otherwise emitted no other sign of life. 

Snape eyed the scene warily as he stalked up to the fire, his eyes moving suspiciously from one boy to the next, as if he’d expected to find one or both of them maimed beyond recovery upon his return. 

“Welcome back, sir,” Harry said cautiously as the man drew near. 

The professor nodded and held his hands out towards the flickering flames. The morning was a cold one, though the sun was still shining happily in the morning sky. 

“You’re back early,” Draco observed suspiciously, his voice rusty with disuse. When Snape had first started his explorations each afternoon, the young Slytherin would anxiously await his return and then pepper him with optimistic questions about what he'd seen and what he'd found. His expression now was jaded; apparently he’d given up hoping their salvation would be found anywhere on the island itself.

Snape's glance hovered over Draco's miserable-looking form. His coloring hadn't improved since the day before -- if anything it was slightly worse. Instead of being delicately pale his skin now seemed pallid and sullen, despite the scarlet sheen upon his cheeks. Draco scowled under the scrutiny and turned his face back towards the ocean.

"Did you find anything?" Harry asked, drawing the man's attention away from the other boy. Surely Snape wouldn't have come back so soon if he hadn't discovered something useful, unless he really thought his students couldn't survive each other's company that long without supervision. If the situation had been different, his concerns might have had some merit, but privately Harry thought he had much too much to worry about to add brawling with Malfoy on the list. It still might happen; his good intentions made little headway when it came to the obnoxious Slytherin, but at least he was trying harder not to let the other boy rile his nerves. Success was still a long way coming; the young Slytherin had a way of inciting his temper that was second to none.

"As a matter of fact," Snape began, "I have found a site infinantly more suitable to our continued survival than this unpleasant stretch of beach. I want to be off at once, so gather your things, and no dawdling from either of you. I don't want to be about it all day."

Excited, Harry hurridly packed his supplies back together. "Is there a shelter there, sir?" He was momentarily disappointed that he would have no need to construct his own, should that be the case. A dark thought swarmed at the shadow of his awareness, but he batted it away with annoyance. There would still be plenty of other things to do to keep himself occupied, even if Snape had found them someplace to live. He could keep himself busy; there was no need to worry.

"Of a sorts," Snape replied impatiently. He didn't seem to be in a very forthcoming mood. "It's nothing remarkable, I assure you. Now get moving, Potter. I said I want no dawdling."

Harry grit his teeth as anger flared inside his gut, and then silently berated himself for letting the Potion Master's sharp tongue affect him. Stranded there on that island with only the two Slytherins for company, it was easy to forget who he was dealing with. Sometimes. He'd been trying so hard not to let Draco's listless sighing prick his resolve, that he'd dropped his guard against the other of his two companions. He'd been surprised so far that he hadn't been raked over the coals for every small thing, and amazed that the professor hadn't taken every opportunity to inflict as much misery as possible. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the worry, concern and civility he'd so far witnessed from the man, but the man was still Snape, and Snape was still a bastard. Perhaps he was capable of acting slightly less of a bastard than Harry had thought -- at times, when the mood so struck him -- but the good long soak in the salty sea water hadn't replaced the man with one more inclined to pleasantries and coddling. He'd do well not to forget that, no matter how strange their exile drove the man to act. He would be polite and respectful -- unless the git really made him angry, which he seemed to have a knack for doing -- until they were rescued. He didn't want Snape's first action upon setting foot back in Hogwarts to be taking a thousand points from Gryffindor. His mates would never forgive him, no matter how many embarrassing stories he might have to tell about Malfoy.

Malfoy, whom, of course, hadn't moved a muscle. The boy might have been looking slightly off-peak, but he was certainly not lying in his deathbed, not yet. Harry was just as tired, and just as hungry, and just as miserable, but he wasn't lazing about doing nothing. Whatever sympathy he'd had for his rival yesterday evaporated and he rose jerkily from his seat. He didn't mind doing his share, in fact he welcomed it. The tedious and often mindless work kept at bay all the worrisome thoughts that lurked at the edges of his conciousness. He knew his mind was a dangerous place; it was a dark place that had seen terror and cruelty and the most awful sort of evil there was, firsthand. Possession by the dark lord did not come without scars. 

He retied his bundles of wood; there were only two now, plus the packet of grass. He hadn't gotten far on his endeavor, and he might regret having to carry them a very long distance, but he refused to let an entire morning's work go to waste. He swung his bag over his shoulder, shoved his feet into his trainers and turned rigidly back to his companions. Snape was kneeling before an irritated Draco, checking the temperature of his forehead with his palm. He spoke softly -- so softly Harry barely saw his lips move -- and the blonde wizard scowled and jerked his head away. 

"I'm ready, sir," Harry declared loudly. He felt incredibly awkward whenever he happened upon these private moments between the other two wizards. It had never occured to him while in school, but now he supposed Malfoy had probably known Snape since he was a child. He'd heard somewhere that Snape used to visit the Malfoy family during the summer. He wondered if Draco had known before this foolish expedition that Snape was spying on his family for Dumbledore. It almost reminded him of Pettrigrew, except without the evil traitor part. Although, Malfoy Senior probably considered Snape a traitor. The knowledge hadn't appeared to lessen Draco's estimation of his Head of House, but then again Harry freely admitted he didn't understand Slytherins and purebloods and their rules of decorum. Maybe it was all an act.

They walked for little more than an hour along the base of the cliffs. The land rose gradually, and the forest to their right crept slowly away until they were traversing wide expansive plains of long green grass. The trees were still evident in the distance, but they were only short and stubby dark smudges against the horizon. Out in the open, the sky was stunningly blue and bright and seemed to stretch on forever. There was barely a cloud to be seen. Harry spent his time marvelling at the quiet, majestic beauty, and noting any evident landmarks so he'd be able to find his way back to the beach if need be. He was slightly concerned about how far they seemed to be travelling from the sources of food they'd found, and also the small stream where they drank their fill each morning and afternoon, but decided Snape would have taken that into consideration. They'd either find new sources closer to the new camp or, if worse came to worse, hike an hour back down to the beach and forest. On an island as large as this one appeared to be, however, they were bound to find something wherever they went, surely. 

Snape led on, setting a brisk pace, and Draco shuffled silently along behind them. If it weren't for the soft swish of grass behind him, Harry would have thought the boy had lagged behind and gotten lost. At the top of the next hill, they veered to the left. They were higher now, but the cliffs still towered above them. Maybe one day he would try to find a way up to the top. The view was probably spectacular. Standing up there, Harry thought he might be able to see until the end of the world.

They crossed a shallow but steadily flowing river and, after stopping for a drink, followed it upstream a ways. They stopped so abruptly Harry almost ran right in to Snape. He'd been letting his mind wander, taking in the beautiful scenery, and hadn't noticed they'd stopped until Snape announced their arrival.

They had come upon the butt of the cliff, which ended as abruptly into the flat field as it had begun out of the ocean. The river continued on, snaking away and leaving a wide, level area between itself and the cliff-face, until it disappeared into some trees a short distance across the plain. The ground there was mostly short stubby grass and dirt, which was much more convenient for everyday living than the long wild grasses they'd trudged through in the fields. It looked suitable enough, Harry supposed. The river being so close by was certainly a positive note, and though the trees were farther away, they weren't too far to be inconvenient.

"You said there was some shelter, sir?" he asked Snape hesitantly. From what he could see, there didn't seem to be anything about except grass and dirt and the sheer side of the cliff. He didn't want to call the man a liar straight to his face, but he could see nothing even remotely resembling any sort of shelter.

Snape nodded. "As I said, it is nothing remarkable," he answered brusquely. "Merely something to keep the wind off our backs as we sleep. Come this way."

Harry obligingly followed up closer to the cliffside and around a slight bend. There was a deep divet in the the side of the cliff there, as if someone had carved a large wedge right out of the rock. There wouldn't be enough room to stand up, but a man could certainly lie down flat in the crevice and be covered from any rains or winds the weather threw at him. Three men, even with one of them as short as himself, would be a tight fit. He wasn't sure how he felt about squeezing in so cozily with the two Slytherins. It turned his stomach a bit, to be honest. 

It was both more and less than he was hoping for. On the one hand, he was still firmly resolved to build his own shelter, whether it be a ramshackle little hut held together with grass rope or a sprawling stone castle built up from scavenged stones from the rubble on the beach. That all depended on how long it took Dumbledore to find them. As brilliant as a castle would be -- he chuckled to himself and imagined for a moment building something to rival Hogwarts, with only his bare hands for tools -- he didn't want to be stranded that long. 

On the other hand, a ready made, secure place to sleep would have been a welcome relief to all of them. He hadn't been hoping for a five star hotel, but a small, unrealistic part of him had wished for, at the very least, a crumbling ruin of a long ago, forgotten people. Anything to show him that they weren't completely lost and alone in the world; that someone, at some point in time, be it twenty years ago or two thousand, had once stood where he stood and survived long enough to leave some sort of mark. 

He might have stood there, buried in thought for hours, but Draco pushed roughly past him and leaned down to inspect the crevice. 

"This is to be our home then?" he asked tiredly. Whatever illness that plagued him had sucked almost all of the spirit out of his voice. "Doesn't look like much."

"For the time being, Mr. Malfoy," Snape answered, "it will just have to do."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, it would just have to do. For now. Opening his eyes he looked out at the breathtaking scenery around them and the sad, disappointing hole in the wall that was to become their home against everything the world had thrown at them. He vowed that he would not let _for now_ ruin his life. It would be so easy to give in, to crawl underneath that rock and bury his head in the darkness and forget the world as it raged on around him. He would not give up, he would not become complacent, and he certainly would not let this _for now_ last any longer than was absolutely necessary.


End file.
